


Cirque d'Amis

by meggieglad



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Deaf Character, Grantaire is a Mess, Lots of glitter facepaint, Polyamory, Ringmaster Enj!, and combeferre is n illusionist, cosette throws knives, he also dances with fire, he is also a noodle, marius is deaf, oooh ahh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 04:35:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13426914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meggieglad/pseuds/meggieglad
Summary: There are two things true of every person who comes to join a circus. One-- they’re running from something, and two-- they’re a little bit magic.Grantaire is no different.





	Cirque d'Amis

_ There are two things true of every person who comes to join a circus. One-- they’re running from something, and two-- they’re a little bit magic. _

 

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆

 

When Grantaire finally finds the place, it’s the dead of night. It’s just, that he didn’t imagine it to be an actual, honest-to-god tent set up in the middle of a giant field. Circuses were usually held in arenas these days, weren’t they? 

 

He had not planned out what to say. He hadn’t had a plan at all. Hence, his 3AM arrival. There is a metal archway plopped down as an entrance. He wonders how long it takes for the crew to nail it into the ground every time they move. “CIRQUE D’AMIS,” it says, in thick, iron letters. He stops a few feet from it, and just stares. He rummaged around in his jacket pocket, pulls out his flask, and takes a swig. It's whisky, and it warms his chest. He goes back to studying the archway. It shouldn’t look so lovely. It shines even though there’s no light, not even from the moon. 

 

He shakes his head. It must be getting really late. He needs to get some sleep. Grantaire tries to ignore the chill he feels as he passes under the archway, and instead takes in his surroundings. There is a path outlined by little booths, which look like they might sell concessions or souvenirs. Up the path are a few benches, and then further, the Big Top. 

 

Grantaire walks up the path, then slowly traces the perimeter of the Big Top. It is otherworldly in its size. When he gets to the back, he finds a little village of smaller tents, although they look a little more like trailers disguised as tents. It is probably for the aesthetic, Grantaire guesses. 

 

All are dark but one.

 

Grantaire approaches the tent without much preamble. It isn’t like he had a lot of options. Hopefully, the person inside will take pity on him. 

He clears his throat. “Um, excuse me?” He says, “Uh, I would knock, but you can’t exactly knock on a tent flap.” He waits for a moment, and hears nothing. Then, “Come in.” 

 

He can’t help the gasp that escapes him when he sees the inside of the tent. It must be around the size of a bedroom, and it is draped in translucent silks and tiny strings of purple and green lights. It’s like stepping into one of those glitter lava lamps. It takes way to long for Grantaire to finally spot the person sitting back in the corner of the tent. They blend to seamlessly into their surroundings, and it’s only when they clear their throat that Grantaire is able to make them out in the strange low light. 

 

“You’re here.” They announce. 

 

“I’m...yes?”

 

“I would say I’ve been expecting you, but that’s just so _ overdone _ .”

 

“You,” Grantaire says, feeling like maybe he should just back away now, out of the tent, and back through the iron gate, and right back to-- no. That wasn’t an option. “You knew I would be here?”

 

“I certainly had a feeling.”

 

“A good feeling?”

 

“Do you think I’d have waited up for you if I didn’t have a good feeling?”

 

“I suppose not.”

 

“Come sit. Would you like a ginger soda?” They start pouring from a tall pitcher. Up close, the stranger is even more breathtaking than the tent, with strawberry hair falling around their shoulders like feathers-- on second thought, there might be some  _ actual  _ feathers mixed in there somewhere--,and wide, light green eyes. 

 

“My name is Jean Provaire, but you may call me Jehan. I am the fortune-teller here.”

 

“Ah,” says Grantaire, “That explains it, then.”

 

“And you are?”

 

“Grantaire.”

 

“Hm.” said Jehan, then again, “Hm.”

 

“Is something the matter?”

 

“No, no, nothing. It’s just funny. I was expecting someone with another name. Maybe a Richard, or a Roy? See, I wrote it just here on my calendar.” He points to a letter scribbled under today’s date, bold, black R. 

 

“Well, no need to doubt yourself. I go by R. I was maybe thinking of not, this time, but it seems I have no choice.” He laughs a little. 

 

“I will call you anything you like.” Jehan says, earnest. 

 

“It’s alright. R is just fine.”

 

“If you’re sure.”

 

“Sure as a shot.” Grantaire says. 

 

“So,” says this Jehan, with a glint in his eyes, “Am I right to say you're good with fire?”

 

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆

 

Enjolras is alone in his trailer. His looks more like an office than a living space. He is seated at his desk, checking over ticket sales when he hears the whistle. Just two notes ringing through the morning air. All of the Amis know this to be their alternative to knocking, as tent flaps make that particular custom difficult. 

 

“Come in.” Enjolras calls. It's probably Combeferre coming to remind him about breakfast. He is very good about reminding Enjolras of important things. The flap pulls open to reveal Jehan, wearing a fleece, aztec-patterned poncho. They have a breezy sort of excitement about them today, which is to say, it’s just like any other day. 

 

“I've got something for you,” Jehan says as he ducks inside.

 

“That's not at all cryptic.” Enjolras replies. He goes to look back down at his files, but more movement catches his eye. Someone else is entering the tent. Someone Enjolras has never seen before. 

 

“This is Grantaire,” Jehan explains. 

 

“Or R,” The man says, “Whichever.”

 

“He showed up at my tent around 3AM this morning. He’d like to join up.”

 

At this news, Enjolras gets up from his desk and approaches the pair of them. He nods to Jehan before studying this newcomer-- Grantaire. He notices that the man has one brown eye and one green, that his hair is dark like charcoal and flops all around when he moves. Enjolras sticks his hand out. Grantaire grins before shaking it, and something about the amusement of that smile annoys Enjolras. 

 

“A pleasure to meet you, sir!” Grantaire says, shaking Enjolras’ hand with much more gusto than is usually acceptable. It's like everything he does is sarcastic. Enjolras just rolls his eyes, he can tell when he is being made fun of. 

 

“So,” Enjolras says, “Grantaire. You've come to join the cause?”

 

“I've come to join a circus.” 

 

Enjolras huffs and Jehan let's out an airy laugh. “Surely you've heard about the show, though. The story we tell?”

 

“I may have heard a few rumors. ‘A politically engaging performance.” That's what the signs all say, right?”

 

“Right. So. Are you passionate about the message?” 

 

“I don't know that i'm passionate about anything, Ringmaster.”

 

“What about your trade then, you must be passionate about that, at least?” Enjolras presses. If Jehan brought him here it probably means that Enjolras won’t turn him away. At the moment, he can’t possibly see why. But Jehan is never wrong about these things. Grantaire opens his mouth to answer, but Jehan starts chattering before he can. 

 

“Now Enjolras remember what you were talking about with Combeferre last week? After the last Cleveland show?” They ask, and Enjolras goes stiff. 

 

“You weren’t there for that conversation.” Enjolras says. 

 

“I can’t help what I know.” They respond with a shrug. “Anyway. Just remember that.” And Enjolras suddenly realizes what is happening here and rounds on Grantaire. 

 

“What do you practice?” He demands. 

 

“Fire.” Grantaire says, “I spin fire. And like dance. And stuff.”

 

“Jehan,” Enjolras all but whines. 

 

“You said, E.” 

 

“Fine.” He says, “Bunk him with the comics.” And with that he’s out the door. 

 

“Dang,” says Grantaire, “You weren’t kidding.”

 

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆

 

“The Comics” are apparently a group of three guys. They don’t have traditional clowns in the circus, Jehan tells Grantaire, but Feuilly is their equivalent of one. It seems like mostly he just doesn’t wear the silly clothes. Bossuet is a friendly-faced man who juggles and spins plates and the like. Neither are in the tent when they arrive, though, only a rather gangly young man named Marius, who is a mime. It is when Marius introduces himself in sign language that Grantaire learns that he is actually deaf, and stays onstage after his act to translate the whole show for any hearing impaired people in the audience. 

 

Grantaire took a few ASL classes in high school and college, so he can answer when Marius asks if he’s seen the show. Grantaire tells him that he hasn’t, but the more he learns about it, the more intrigued he gets. Marius looks delighted at being able to converse with Grantaire, and they spend the rest of the morning talking, Grantaire clumsily asking questions, and Marius catching him up on the goings-on.  Grantaire sometimes has to spell out words with actual letters, or ask Marius to type something out with his phone, but it works all the same. 

 

_ So.  _ Grantaire signs.  _ Who are the coolest people around here?  _

 

_ Bossuet and Feuilly are great,  _ Marius answers, with enthusiastic nods,  _ they’re good roommates.  _

 

_ Jehan seems like good people.  _

 

_ Yes. They’re wonderful.  _

 

_ And what’s the scoop on Enjolras. Our mighty leader? Wrath of the gods, that one.  _

 

_ Uh oh. What did he do?  _ Marius signs, with a knowing smile. 

 

_ He doesn’t seem to like me much. Or at all.  _

 

_ He’s prickly at first. He’ll come around.  _

 

Just then, there’s a whistle outside. Then someone pops a hand in and snaps twice, likely for Marius’ benefit. He nods at Grantaire, so Grantaire calls out: “Come in!” A very pretty girl with lilac hair ducks into the tent. She smiles wide at both of them. Marius’ face colors pleasantly and he looks like he might wave, but thinks better of it and shoves them into his pockets. If the girl takes notice of this strange behavior, she doesn’t let on. 

 

“Who might you be, then?” She asks Grantaire. 

 

“I’m R. I’m new.”

 

“Well that much is obvious! Wonderful to meet you, R. I’m Cosette.”

 

“What is the meaning of this, Marius?” Grantaire both says and signs. “I ask you about the best people here and you leave out this lovely lady?”

 

_ Just didn’t get to her yet _ . Marius signs. Cosette watches on politely, but doesn’t seem to understand. 

 

“He says he was saving the best for last.” Grantaire says, with a mischievous grin in Marius’ direction. Marius, in turn, blushes even more fiercely. 

 

“I’m trying to learn, but i’m not that good yet,” Cosette explains, hiding her mouth behind her hand, which makes Grantaire think Marius can read lips. “Don’t tell, it’s a surprise.” Marius looks suspicious and signs quick protestations at Grantaire. 

 

Grantaire just locks up his mouth with an invisible key and chucks it at Marius’ head, who puts on a great show of acting like it clocked him in the temple. Cosette seems absolutely enamoured with this performance. 

 

It’s all very gross. 

 

Feuilly and Bossuet, Grantaire assumes because they don’t bother with the whistling,  get back then, each with an armful of hoagies. They drop the food on the table in the corner before turning around to address the room. 

 

“Cosette,” greets one of them. He has dark skin and no hair, but somehow very large eyebrows. Caterpillar brows, Grantaire likes to call them. He salutes Marius, who mirrors the motion right back. “And you must be Grantaire. Finally!” He crosses the room and Grantaire thinks he might go for a handshake, but instead he finds himself being pulled into a hug. “I’m Bossuet!” He says. 

 

“And I’m Feuilly,” says the other man. He has thick auburn hair that’s pulled back into a bun. 

 

“Finally?” Grantaire asks. “Dang. word travels fast here, huh?”

“Very fast.” Feuilly confirms. “You’ll get used to it soon.” 

 

“Anyway, we brought lunch if you’re hungry?” says Bossuet. 

 

“I’m starving, actually.” Grantaire realizes. 

 

“Perfect timing then!” And they all sit down to lunch. 

 

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆

 

“If you tell me it wasn’t you, I’ll believe you.” Enjolras says. 

 

“Ok, great,” Combeferre replies, “Because it wasn’t me.”

 

Enjolras huffs and nods. “I’m just confused. He doesn’t seem to get what is it we’re doing here. He doesn’t take anything seriously. He _laughed_ at me, Ferre. And I just find it pretty convenient that he shows up just after we were talking about _maybe,_ just maybe, by the way, reincorporating--”

 

“Jeez, E. Slow down.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“If you don’t think he belongs here, why did you say yes?”

 

“Jehan seemed pretty adamant about him.”

 

“Ah,” Combeferre says, with an understanding nod. “I see.”

 

“Jehan’s never wrong.” Enjolras says. 

 

“Jehan’s never wrong.” Combeferre agrees. 

 

Enjolras sighs and collapses next to Combeferre on the couch. Combeferre absentmindedly runs his fingers through Enjolras’ hair. Everyone in the company is rather tactile, which meant Combeferre is able to touch Enjolras’ hair a lot without getting questioned. It is very soft and very blonde; sue him. 

 

“Have you eaten anything today?” Combeferre asks. Enjolras doesn’t answer, but Combeferre can feel him shaking his head no. “Alright. Up you get. I think there are hoagies today.”

 

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆

 

It’s opening night in Dayton. Showtime is 7PM, but people start arriving at around 5:30 and mill around at the front, buying food and concessions. It turns out, Feuilly sells handmade fans at one of the booths. He says he likes to man the booth himself, so he already has his show makeup and costume on. He wears black and white pinstripe pants and a V-neck lined with red horizontal stripes. He looks like a real life optical illusion. He also looks like he dumped an entire tube of red glitter in his hair. When he puts on his combat boots, Grantaire jokes that he’s the hottest clown he’s ever seen. 

 

Everyone in this place it hot, Grantaire realizes then. It’s crazy. 

 

He gets to watch the show in the audience tonight. As everyone else gets ready, he finds himself drawn out to the front, where everyone chats, and laughs, and eats cotton candy. He finds that he likes the adrenaline of it. 

 

Grantaire doesn’t take his seat until about five minutes to showtime, and before he knows it, the lights are going down. 

 

He is not prepared for the sight of Enjolras in dark eyeliner with black glitter painted onto half of his face, like a mask. Glitter seems to be the theme. It could easily look trashy, but on them it just looks magical. He wonders what it’ll look like on him. 

 

Then Enjolras starts the show and Grantaire doesn’t have another thought until the company is taking their bows. 

 

It’s a good show. It’s a great show. It’s way above him, he realizes, and it was nice to dream, but it’s clear now that they’re going to kick him out as soon as they see how tragically mediocre he is. He glances around the tent to make sure no one is looking. The crowd is still screaming, eyes fixed on the performers. Grantaire scoots by some people, flipping open his flask as he goes. He might as well get it over with now, just leave before they can tell him to. 

 

So he goes, out the front entrance and back up the path. 

 

There’s a crescent moon tonight, and some stars. 

 

He wishes he still had the optimism to make wishes. Instead, he takes another sip of Whisky, whistling some showtune or other while he goes. 

 

Oh well. It was worth a shot.

**Author's Note:**

> So. Gonna be honest. I may or may not stick with this. I don't have the best track record. But I WILL say that I am so stoked about this AU atm so if other people are feeling it I'll keep at it!
> 
> Thanks for reading if ya got this far!
> 
> MegXX


End file.
